


we were angels once, don't you remember?

by angledevoil



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Brief Violence, Declarations Of Love, Falling In Love, Finding each other again, Fluff, Happy Ending, Heaven takes revenge, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Reincarnation, Sort Of, Soulmates sort of, Turned into humans but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 15:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angledevoil/pseuds/angledevoil
Summary: Demons are rather uncreative. So, after the disastrous initial attempt to destroy the traitors, it’s Gabriel’s turn to exact punishment on Aziraphale and Crowley. And we all know it’s going to be anything but uncreative.Or, no matter what Heaven or Hell throws at them, Aziraphale and Crowley will find each other time and time again.





	we were angels once, don't you remember?

**Author's Note:**

> this is just me doing a human fic without the pain that comes with a human fic. it's literally just "hey what if aziraphale and crowley forgot each other but still lived the same lives so you Know they'd eventually fall in love all over again cuz that's the way They work?"
> 
> also, this is what happens when you listen to "no one else" from great comet immediately followed by "origin of love" from hedwig and the angry inch
> 
> enjoy

“Holy water? Burning him in hellfire?” Gabriel ran a hand over his face, hair remaining in place despite his continuous stressed pulling at it. “That is the last time I let Hell decide any sort of punishment.”

“Indeed, it’s terribly embarrassing that the two traitorous wretches went native.”

Gabriel looked up at Michael, eyes narrowing. “You really expect me to believe that?” He slammed his hands on his pearl white desk, seething, “There was no way Aziraphale could have survived that fire. It’s impossible.”

“What must we do?”

* * *

Months after the Armageddon did not occur, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves in the restored bookshop, where they had frequented nowadays. Aziraphale thumbed through the pages of a new book he found on a previously empty shelf— courtesy of young Adam. His gloved hands trailed over the words, eyes taking in each line of a thought-to-be-lost poem from the sixteenth century. He remembered hearing the poet read it aloud in a small room in southern Wales.

Now, all he heard was the soft spray of a plant mister as Crowley tended to the plants after their relocation to the bookshop. Aziraphale also heard Crowley murmuring gentle words to the leaves, however he elected to pretend he didn’t.

It was a wonderful day.

There was a careful line between the two of them, still. While it was much more blurred than it was before, it was there nonetheless. Aziraphale and Crowley had both wondered what would happen if they were to cross the line. It was something that nagged at their minds constantly— though the life they shared now was more than acceptable. Everything was quite pleasant, now. So, they both made their independent decisions to respect the line, drawn in sand. 

They were truly left alone. The woman from the night time car ride who they encountered again at the airbase had left back to the states with her boyfriend. Madame Tracy and Shadwell were occupied with themselves for the moment, but Aziraphale predicted they’d figure everything out soon enough. And, Adam returned to a life of childhood joys and triumphs with his adorable hellhound. Everything was returning to a level of normalcy, with some added benefits, including a demon spending most of his days and some nights at the bookshop.

Crowley ceased his misting and set down the bottle, glancing at Aziraphale. His lips turned up in a small smile at the sight of the angel examining the new book with a rigor similar to when he encounters a new food. “Would you fancy a white wine?” 

Aziraphale turned, facing away from his book for the first time in over an hour, meeting Crowley’s gaze with a smile. “Oh, that would be rather nice, yes.” He said, closing his book without another thought— well, besides the thin bookmark he miracled on the page he was on.

Nodding, Crowley stalked over to the back of the bookshop for the wine cellar. Aziraphale turned back to his book to set it aside in a space uninhabited by dust. Then, something rather large struck the back of his head.

He cried out in surprise as he fell out of his chair, pain blooming in his head instantly. He landed on the floor with a thump.

“Angel?” Crowley called from the wine cellar. 

Aziraphale looked up at his attacker. Gabriel stood there with a thick ceramic vase that once held one of Crowley’s ferns. The plant laid on the ground, soil scattered around. Aziraphale felt anger at the treatment of the dear thing for a moment before panic began to sink in.

“Hello, Aziraphale.” Gabriel grinned in that horrible way, never reaching his eyes. An empty facade of pleasantness.

No—

Crowley burst out of the hallway that led to the cellar and blanched. He stepped forward, and was met with the impact of two angels rushing him and knocking him to the floor.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale choked out before Gabriel abruptly grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him.

“You’re going to regret betraying Heaven, dear Aziraphale.” He whispered, eyes burning with seething anger, juxtaposing his pleasant smile.

Aziraphale felt his breath coming quickly, panic settling into its new home. His eyes remained locked onto Gabriel’s however, hard and unrelenting. Aziraphale began to summon— Gabriel scoffed at the look and threw Aziraphale back onto the suddenly hard ground, head cracking against the patch of pavement that had manifested below him.

The angel thought he heard a broken voice calling his name past the ringing in his ears. He looked up and tried to look at who was calling him, blinking away the blood that had dripped into his eyes. Crowley looked back, expression screwed in desperation, held by a flock of angels. There was blood on his face as well, Aziraphale noticed before he fell unconscious.

* * *

Aziraphale woke in a chair, bound by the wrists. He blearily blinked and looked around. Heaven. Then, Crowley in front of him, facing him and bound likewise. He was already awake.

“Aziraphale!” 

“Not so loud, my dear,” Aziraphale grunted, adjusting in the seat painfully, “My head.” He tried to miracle the throbbing to a baseline level of comfort, but something was dampening it.

Gabriel and Michael walked into the room. Just the two of them.

“Hello, you two.” Michael said in a sing-song voice, holding an ethereal contraption.

“Why, you’re in a good mood, Michael!” Gabriel smiled, holding the same contraption in his own hands. He leaned in, stage-whispering to Aziraphale, “I think I know why.” Gabriel winked.

Aziraphale’s grogginess turned to panicked alertness as he tried to assess a way to escape. The room was entirely empty, just their chairs, them, and the head angels with those devices in their hands— what were those?

“Oh fuck off, you two.” Crowley sneered, anger encompassing him. Aziraphale could see his presence becoming quite demonic, ready to strike despite his confinement.

The two angels ignored the demon and Gabriel stepped forward, facing the two with a smile. This one reached his eyes. “Now, Michael, do you want to tell them what we found out?”

Michael’s lips quirked up in a similar smile, “We know how you two escaped us last time. A simple swap— was it, Gabriel?”

“Perfect, just how I said it.” Gabriel fiddled with the contraption, “Well, we realized this and I thought, ‘How silly of us, we should have checked for that!’” His smile turned down, a glare forming on his face, “You made a fool of Heaven, and whatever of Hell. Hell tried to punish you, and they failed. But, I haven’t gotten my chance to punish you in the name of the Great Almighty.”

Crowley scoffed. Aziraphale glared back at the angels.

“We are going to get out of here, and you will have to answer to the Almighty for what you are doing in her name.” Aziraphale spat out.

Gabriel tilted his head, “You don’t even know what we’re doing.”

“Then, pray tell.” Crowley said, struggling against his restraints.

“Oh don’t do that, it’s reinforced, you know, with Heavenly powers— beyond you two.” Gabriel waved in a gesture meant to illustrate its vastness. He remembered himself, “Oh! Yes, let me guide you two through what I fixed up.”

Michael moved forward to stand behind Crowley as Gabriel did the same of Aziraphale. They both placed the small contraption on the pair’s necks.

Aziraphale flinched away, but Michael dug it closer to his skin.

“We figured we could just miracle your entire existences away,” Gabriel began, glowing brighter, placing emphasis on the word ‘miracle’, “But, that’s too much energy for truly,” He leaned closer, “Not that much satisfaction. So, we decided on a more rustic-”

“Artful!” Michael interrupted.

“Yes! Artful! A more artful approach!” Gabriel smiled, “Our approach this time around is to give you both what you want so you will leave us the Hell alone, and let the Great Plan proceed.”

Aziraphale felt icy dread crawl its way up his throat.

“So, you can be the humans you obviously always wanted to be.” Gabriel said.

Crowley’s eyes widened, “What?” He groaned, voice shifting to annoyance, “You can’t expect us to believe you can do that!”

“You’re right, demon.” Michael said, “However, we can certainly make you both forget the fact that you have your eternal powers. Same thing, really, and when you both eventually realize you aren’t aging— well, we can just reset the process.”

“The process?” Aziraphale’s voice shook.

“Oh! Michael, you didn’t say the best part!”

“I left it for you, Gabriel.”

“You’re so kind.”

Crowley growled, “Will you just say what the Heaven you’re doing to us?” Aziraphale figured he was trying to think of an escape plan as well, gathering information. Smart.

“Of course!” Gabriel said with the kind of politeness that only came when you knew you didn’t have to deal with an irritating person for much longer, “We’re just gonna use these to, zap! Remove your memories of each other, your lives, everything! Well, except whatever lives you two decided was so important on Earth.”

“No-” Aziraphale looked at Crowley’s similarly stricken face. They stared at each other in pain. Crowley’s face was covered in layers of loss, anger, sadness, and a defiance that Aziraphale felt was reflecting back to the demon. Whatever happens, he thought, they’ll find a way out.

Gabriel laughed, “Well, good luck.”

And everything turned to white.

* * *

Ezra Fell woke at his desk, body slumped over a particularly striking book. He blinked a few times, pushing the book into a spot where it wouldn’t be touched by dust as he stood up to go get a drink. Perhaps a white wine for this afternoon. On his way, he tripped slightly over a vase that had tipped over, fern and soil spilling out of it.

“Oh heavens,” he muttered to himself, turning his trajectory to grab a broom. As he walked away, the plant shuddered.

* * *

Humans are awfully drawn to familiar faces, even when they don’t realize just how familiar they truly are. 

_5 months after the Reset_

Ezra sat at the bar, running his finger along the rim of a particularly sweet pumpkin cocktail. It wasn’t his usual selection, however it was Halloween, so one must get into the festive mood. 

Music pounded throughout the club. Currently, it was the Monster Mash. A plethora of people occupied the small dance floor, all adorned with different costumes and similar smiles. Others had been drawn to the booths, engaging in conversation, drinks nearly spilling when they leaned in closer to each other. It was all very nice, a splendid party that hinged on rambunctiousness, seated in the heart of Soho. 

Ezra smiled to himself. He had been invited to this party by a fine man who frequented his bookshop. 

“Get out more, Mr. Fell!” The young man said while Ezra plucked dollar bills from the register, “You never leave this little shop, I swear.”

Ezra tutted while handing him his change. “Now, William you are already taking this wonderful book of poems away from me— must you take my pride as well?”

William, a man of about 25, or 27, Ezra couldn’t remember, shook his head. “I’m going to a Halloween party, you should go. A good bunch of men your age go as well, maybe you could find someone to run this place with you so you can finally live a little”

“I do live, thank you very much! And what makes you think I don’t already ‘have someone’?”

“How many hours do you dedicate to your thousand books and million plants?”

“Well.”

And so, Ezra found himself sitting at the bar of a club he had never been to, nursing a pumpkin cocktail. It was rather nice of William to invite him, though he lost sight of the man dressed as a rabbit long ago in the night. 

He turned back to the bartender, ready to signal for a wine to replace his drink, when someone sat on the stool next to him.

“Hello, angel.” The man said. Ezra startled.

“I’m sorry?” Ezra set down his drink, giving the man a once over. He had deep red hair that was slicked back slightly, and wore a bright yellow military styled jacket with many buckles and straps along with white trousers. His eyes were an incredibly bright hazel, the light brown nearing on golden in the vibrant lights of the club. There was a painfully fake moustache stuck to his upper lip.

“Oh, I was just complimenting your costume. Very nice.” The man grinned.

“Ah, yes! Thank you,” Ezra’s hands went to his white suited ensemble and the small feathered wings strapped on his back. It wasn’t particularly accurate-- his mind mused, thinking on the glitter covered halo headband resting on his head— but it was the quickest thing Ezra could find without spending much money, “And you are?”

“You don’t know?” The man tilted his head and raised a plush microphone to his lips as he opened his mouth in a faux yell. He turned back to Ezra, “I’m Freddie Mercury, of course!”

“Are you now?” Ezra smiled at the man. 

“Yes, obviously. But, you can call me Anthony.” 

“Anthony. Good name.”

“Why, thank you. Chose it myself,” Anthony smiled in the same way Ezra was, a slight teasing lilt to his voice.

“I’m Ezra.” He stuck out his hand, to which Anthony grasped. And they shook. Ezra exhaled a little sharply at the feeling of it. He felt a tug in his chest as they touched, something in him yearning to stay there for eternity. Rather silly, he thought as he released Anthony’s hand.

Anthony had an unreadable expression on his face for a short moment before smiling once again, “What brings you to this party, Ezra?”

“An acquaintance of mine felt I ‘don’t go out enough.’ So, here I am.”

Anthony nodded, “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t have much luck at the other parties, and it looks like I finally found it.”

Ezra shifted, two parts uncomfortable, one part astonished, and another part delighted. There was an undeniable energy around Anthony that couldn’t help but draw Ezra in, however he still had boundaries no pumpkin cocktail could sway. “Well, Anthony, I-”

“No,” Anthony screwed his eyes shut for a moment, “I mean,” He locked eyes with Ezra, the sharp hazel of them striking, “You’re just very nice company, angel.” 

Something in that term struck a chord in Ezra. He replied softly, “We’ve hardly spoken.”

“Let’s change that.”

* * *

After their initial meeting, the two ended up bumping into each other quite often. It was as if they were on a crash course track that always led to each other at intersections. There was no way of them knowing, at the moment, that their finish lines consisted of the same singular track.

_7 months after the Reset_

Human nature is relatively simple. They enjoy constants.

However, Ezra had been dealing with these godforsaken plants for far too long. He knew they had been in his shop for so long that he couldn’t even remember when they popped up in his shop. He just knew that they were there, and he’d rather close up shop rather than get rid of them senselessly. It felt wrong to just sell them; the plants felt close to him. No matter how non-green his thumbs were.

Which is why he decided to venture to a nearby plant store to gain some much needed insight for the well-being of his plants.

“Drainage pots?” He muttered to himself, looking at a shelf of rather large pots with holes on the bottom of them. Ezra had never deigned to check if the pots his plants inhabited had these same holes, nor if they even needed them. And, what was this ‘drainage gravel/rocks’ business? The man stared helplessly at the collection of containers and bags of small pebbles and whatnot. He had many books on plants in his shop, however journals of Mendel’s first discoveries may not be the guide Ezra needed at the moment.

“You have a garden?”

Ezra turned from his bane, meeting the man’s curious gaze with a wide smile. It had been a few months since the two had met at the Halloween party, when they talked for a little over an hour about their respective lives. Apparently, Ezra failed to mention the mini garden in his shop. “Yes, I do.” He said, smoothing the lapels of his coat down.

Anthony grinned back at him, wearing sunglasses this time around. He nodded toward the shelf, “Repotting some?”

“What?”

“You,” Anthony raised an eyebrow, turning to another track in his approach, “There’s little reason someone would be looking at pots this large without a need for repotting plants, or you’re purchasing a tree. However, I don’t see a tree with you.”

“Why, you know a lot about this sort of thing.”

Anthony shrugged, looking at the shelf with a small frown, “I’ve been itching to get some plants for my flat. There’s a perfect spot for them in there— I don’t know why I don’t have any there already.”

An idea struck Ezra, “Why don’t you come over to my bookshop!” He brightened, finally turning away from the wretched shelf, “I have many plants that I simply do not know what to do with— you can have some (or all) of them, free of charge!”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“Nonsense! Do follow me, the shop is but a few blocks away!”

_7 months and 20 minutes after the Reset_

“These are… beautiful.” Anthony wandered around the bookshop, brushing his fingers against the leaves of a few particularly large plants. Ezra’s brows furrowed, seeing the leaves seem to almost brush back against the man’s hand, still reaching for him as he moved onto another plant. He attributed it to a draft in the room.

“Well, if you would like them,” Ezra stood next to Anthony, “They’re yours.”

Anthony looked at Ezra, lips parted slightly. He glanced back at the plant and again at Ezra, “You want to just give them away to me? You can’t possibly mean that, Ezra.”

Ezra’s eyes scanned the bookshop, landing briefly on each plant, each flower that somehow began to bloom as soon as Anthony set foot in the store. He saw how Anthony’s face lit up in quiet awe at each one. The plants were quite attractive, and they brought customers in. However, they never truly felt like Ezra’s, more like silent, judging roommates.

And, though they had only spoken once, prior to this moment, Ezra found himself trusting the plants in the hands of his new friend.

“I do. You can have them. I only request visitation privileges.” 

“You really are an angel, aren’t you?” Anthony mused with a small shake of his head.

“I’ve been told.”

An exchange of amused grins. Then, sobering with sincerity.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, my dear.”

* * *

It’s hard for humans to express deep feelings— well, it’s hard for any being, really. But it’s especially hard for humans, as the choices they make are infinitely more impactful to their lives than any immortal being. Their time on Earth is limited, so the choices made must be careful.

However, sometimes old habits of expecting life to last forever die hard. Even when one is trapped into thinking they have the limited days that come standard with being human.

_7 months and 10 days after the Reset_

Ezra sat behind the small counter in his bookshop, blowing the steam from a cup of hot cocoa. His hands gripped the mug with little wings on them as he surveyed the shop. A few customers milled about the room, not looking for particularly anything in general. Ezra suppressed a discontent noise at the fact that none of them would be purchasing anything— as Ezra’s books were far too expensive and rare for non collectors. However, a part in him rang out in joy knowing his collection was safe for the time being, even if that meant he gained no money out of it.

He had owned this bookshop for many years, having inherited it from a family member who instructed him to guard the collection with his life. Ezra took that instruction to heart, for he himself loved the books and journals collected over decades, and perhaps even centuries, in the small bookshop.

This didn’t change the all too present notion that the shop was struggling, though. Ezra often found himself wondering how on Earth the previous owner had managed to keep it open without selling more than twenty books per year, if the ledgers he examined were accurate. It was incredibly difficult to part with books Ezra knew to be recovered long, long ago by the previous owner. He knew there was a story behind each book, and when he handed over a book of prophecies by Robert Nixon, he knew that story was being ripped away from him.

Ezra’s line of thought was interrupted by his phone ringing. He lifted the receiver, “Hello?”

“Angel-”

“Anthony!” Ezra was glad to hear the man’s voice. It had been quite a few days since Anthony had brought his vintage car over to the shop and together they loaded the many plants into his seats and trunk. “How are you?”

“Uh, good. Actually,” He paused, a brief silence over the phone, “I was wondering if you’d like to come over. To see how your plants look here.”

“Your plants, Anthony.”

“Right, well. Would you?”

“Yes, of course! Let me fetch my coat and I’ll be right over.”

After a relay of an address of a flat not too far away, Ezra hung up the phone. By some miracle, the few people in the shop gradually made their way out. They must have heard his conversation. He grabbed his winter coat and flipped the sign from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED’. There weren’t going to be any sales that day, after all, so an early closing wouldn’t hurt.

One quick cab drive and a buzzer request to the designated floor later, Ezra stood outside of Anthony’s flat. He knocked twice on the door.

“Ezra!” Anthony opened the door nearly immediately.

“Hello, good to see you again!” 

“Likewise, here, come in.”

Ezra entered the flat, eyes wandering the nearly empty area. It was awfully… minimalist.

“The plants are over here.” 

He followed Anthony after furrowing his brow at the Mona Lisa portrait above a chair that looked awfully ornate. Ezra wondered just how the man managed to garner these items.

Then, he saw the small hall with all the plants next to a lengthy set of windows. The plants looked absolutely proud, leaves showing off their shiny gleam of a fresh mist.

“They look wonderful, my dear.” Ezra murmured, staring at them, “Suits the home.”

Anthony smiled, eyes on Ezra.

Ezra turned back to Anthony, clasping his hands together, “Well, since I’m here, I’d love to get to know how you come about such pieces such as that Mona Lisa recreation and that statue over there.” Anthony’s cheeks went red under his sunglasses as Ezra pointed briefly at the statue of the angel and demon in… well, battle?

Anthony nodded, leading Ezra to another room with a black couch in the center, a TV a few feet away facing it. They sat. Anthony grabbed for the remote and spoke, eyes focused on the screen. “Well, I’m an art collector, to answer your question.”

Ezra’s face lit up, unrestrained excitement surfacing through a wide smile and scrunched eyes. Anthony’s gaze turned from the TV’s channel guide to Ezra’s face. A small smile that only reached his eyes appeared. Ezra could hardly see this expression of fondness beyond the man’s sunglasses and shifted closer in eagerness, “An art collector! Is it your own private collection?”

“No— well, yes, sort of.” Anthony struggled, mouth opening and closing for a moment. His eyes glanced back and forth from Ezra, who was leaning close to the man, and the TV. “I collect for a company, but they hardly follow up with me on clients for pieces until months late, so they just stay here. The place I used to work for fired me because I didn’t wholly agree with their policies. I had so many art pieces gone to waste from that place.”

“They sound like rubbish. I think the place you’re at now is fine— at least they provide you free home decor.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I’d love to hear how you got that statue.”

After twenty minutes of Anthony regaling Ezra with a story of how he traveled to the deepest depths of Europe’s treasure troves for a specially requested statue (that seemed highly embellished), he tilted his head, “You’re quite different, you know that?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Anthony shrugged, leaning his arm across the couch, lightly brushing Ezra’s opposite shoulder, “Most people would ask about what price that thing is fetching, but you.” He looks at Ezra intently, eyes intense behind his sunglasses, “You didn’t.”

Ezra felt something catch in his throat. He averted his gaze and said, “That’s not all that interesting,” rather quietly.

“But, it is!” Anthony sat up in an instant, gesturing with the arm that had laid near Ezra’s shoulders, “It’s odd, you just,” he paused, seeming to think his words over before he continued on, a determined look on his face, “You know exactly what questions I want to be asked of me.”

“It’s not that I can read your mind,” Ezra lightly corrected with a small laugh, “I just want to hear your stories. I want to hear about you, not so much your art, dear.”

“Oh.” Something about that caused Anthony’s look to intensify further, as if that hadn’t occurred to him. He swallowed, “I want to hear your stories too, angel.”

Something about _that_ caused Ezra’s breath to quicken. He didn’t have the slightest clue why, but something in that made him feel awfully exposed and raw. The fuzzy shape of a line rounded its way into Ezra’s subconscious, causing him to edge back a bit, away from Anthony. “I’d love to tell you my stories,” he said truthfully, “But, I can’t leave my shop unattended for the entire day,” he lied, “I should be off.” 

Anthony’s mouth twitched, a pained look on his face there and gone in an instant.

“Right, another time.”

Something about the way this conversation went led to the impression of a line existing. However, in this case, there was no line to the two men. That, sadly, did not stop them both from imagining there was one.

“Another time.”

* * *

Another time didn’t come for a while. In fact, the next time they saw each other was not the promised “another time.” However, though they did not get to exchange stories at this meeting, some stories were saved, and a new story began.

_8 months after the Reset_

It was an awfully rainy day in St. James’s, Ezra lamented. He had just acquired some rare first editions of various novels from a woman he had met in his bookshop. She had stopped in for a moment the previous week and commented on having some works similar to the ones he housed, given to her by her grandparents.

Of course, Ezra denied her offer to donate the books at first, knowing the sacred connection of family had been held in the passing down of relics. However, she waved him off and invited him to visit and pick them up the following week, which was the rainy day Ezra was experiencing firsthand in St. James’s.

He held tighter onto the leather case holding the books and walked quickly down the sidewalk, umbrella held in the other hand. The city was relatively empty for a weekend, no doubt due to the rain. 

Ezra stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the sign to change, rain pattering on his umbrella. 

Then, someone stood next to him. Ezra continued looking forward, waiting for the sign. 

“Hi, Ezra.”

“Oh, Anthony!” Ezra startled, looking over at the man who had shoved his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders in an effort to avoid the rain that soaked into his clothes.

There was a quiet, stilted moment of silence, save for the rain. 

Anthony wasn’t sure of what to say, seeing it was clear Anthony wasn’t going to say anything. After their last encounter, the two of them had spoken on the phone once or twice, but there was something that held them both back from the easy conversation of their first few meetings. It greatly upset Ezra, causing him to delve into his work, hence why he decided to take that woman up on her offer of prized books.

He finally decided there was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do, for now. They’d have to let time cool their friendship again so he could have some semblance of stability. Except, the awful sound of rain thumping onto damp clothing caused something to twist in his chest. Without another thought, he moved his hand toward Anthony so the umbrella covered them both. 

Anthony looked at Ezra, brows furrowed for a moment before he looked ahead again. They both stood there, watching the sign. Rain dripped off of the umbrella and formed a curtain of droplets circling the two of them.

After a moment of a different sort of silence, the sign finally changed and they walked across the street together. Ezra was not quite sure where Anthony was headed, and he knew his bookshop was quite a ways away, at least a twenty minute walk. However, it was nice to walk beside him for the time being, a small amount of rain managing to catch on the side of his arm that didn’t quite get covered by the umbrella between them. 

He could live with a wet coat for this.

After a few minutes of content silence in walking down the long streets of London, Anthony spoke up, “My car is up ahead. Need a lift?”

Ezra swallowed, “That would be quite nice.”

Then, silence again as they approached the Bentley. Ezra sat in the passenger seat, shaking his umbrella out before shutting the door. He placed the case on the floor of the car in front of his seat. Anthony turned on the car and began to drive.

Clearly unable to bear with anymore silence for the day, Anthony switched on his music. Ezra smiled at the upbeat tune he didn’t exactly recognize. They listened to the music as Anthony drove. He drove quite quickly, passing well over ten miles the speed limit. However, Ezra found this oddly relieving, a small voice in his head saying, ‘It could be worse, he could be going ninety!’ Ridiculous.

“I’m sorry.” 

Ezra turned to Anthony, confused. “What for?”

“Whatever I said, I…” Anthony’s jaw tensed, hands gripping the wheel tighter. “I don’t have many friends.” He said, simply.

“Neither do I.”

“So, I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Ezra understood the feeling. There was something precious about the connection with Anthony. Of course, they’d only known him a short while, but just as they admitted, Ezra didn’t have many people in his life. He hadn’t had contact with his family for a very long time and people generally didn’t want to seek friendship in stingy bookshop owners. This thing with Anthony was different. They knew each other, in a sense. They knew how each other felt, kindred souls and all that. He didn’t want some misstep of either of theirs to ruin that.

“Please accept the apology.” Anthony spoke up again, voice strained.

Ezra’s heart tugged, knowing Anthony couldn’t actually read his thoughts and rest assured that Ezra intended to continue on with their friendship for as long as possible. So, he smiled and pat Anthony’s knee, “You are forgiven.”

Anthony relaxed, eyes glancing down at the hand on his knee. Ezra gently removed it, careful not to seem too quick in the motion.

They arrived shortly at Ezra’s bookshop, car easing to a stop. 

“I’ll phone you.” Ezra promised. He needed Anthony to know this.

Anthony nodded, smiling softly. “Talk to you then.”

Ezra smiled back and exited the car, shielding himself from the rain with his umbrella. He unlocked the door to his shop and stepped inside, reveling in the warm, dry air. The umbrella was set on a small table as he walked to his desk. Suddenly, he realized with a panicked flinch that he had left his books in Anthony’s car. 

He whirled around just as Anthony burst into the bookshop, rainwater dotting and dripping down his face. He held the leather case under his jacket. 

Silence. Ezra stepped toward Anthony.

Anthony brought the case out from under his jacket, completely dry. He handed it to Ezra, “You left this.”

“Thank you.” Ezra breathed out, eyes focusing intently on Anthony. There was rainwater on the lenses of his sunglasses. He didn’t wipe it away, just staring back at Ezra for a brief moment before he ducked his head.

“‘Was nothing.” He placed his hands back into his pockets, “Talk to you on the phone.” And with that, he turned away.

“Wait!” Ezra grabbed Anthony’s elbow. Anthony stopped. Ezra let go of him and went for his umbrella.

He picked it up from the desk and handed it to Anthony. Anthony’s hands unsurely grasped the handle, fingers brushing against Ezra’s.

“For the rain.” Ezra said.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

As Anthony stepped outside, umbrella extended, effectively shielding himself from the rain, Ezra let out a deep sigh. Peering through the window in his bookshop, he watched Anthony get into his car and drive off. A deep warm sensation curled in Ezra’s chest, slithering into a soft coil and getting comfortable. 

* * *

Humans are many things. One such thing is that they’re terribly predictable.

_8 Months and 1 day after the Reset_

Dialing. Ringing. A click, then:

“Hello?”

“Hello, Anthony.”

“You phoned.”

“I said I would.”

“You did.”

“Now tell me about that music in your car, they sounded lovely.”

“That was Queen, Angel. You know, actually, I’m not sure how that album ended up in my car, but the songs are quite good so I decided to keep them. There’s another album I particularly enjoy, you should give it a listen…”

* * *

The funny thing about humans, is how much higher stakes are for them. Life is so short, and the years are so long. So, when the pressure is constantly cranked up to ten, humans often seek the comfort of others.

_9 months after the Reset_

Ezra and Anthony had been in near constant contact since the car ride. If it wasn’t quick visits to each other’s homes, then it was phone calls.

So, Ezra understood why his phone started ringing for the third time that day. He couldn’t pull his hand to answer it, knowing if he picked up, he wouldn’t be able to say a word through the choked feeling in his throat.

There had been no customers to his shop in nearly a week. He was quickly running out of savings funds that were in the back of his bookshop for as long as he can remember. For one of the many times in the past near year, Ezra didn’t know what to do.

After all, it didn’t even matter that the phone was ringing garishly, as no one was in the shop except Ezra to hear it. He set his head on his arms, slumping down onto his desk. 

The phone stopped ringing.

He remembered a time where he would rejoice when no one would visit his shop, and it was just himself in the shop, left alone to examine the works on the shelves and read them with care. But, now, with hardly enough money to keep the shop afloat, he could only feel miserable when each long day ended with no visitors. Well, besides Anthony, but his visits created a different sort of happiness in Ezra’s life.

Ezra got up abruptly, making a beeline toward the back room. He grabbed a bottle of red wine and made his way back to his desk. The cork made a loud sound as he popped it off.

Drinking straight from the bottle, Ezra stared the books on his desk down. His eyes flitted from The Holy Bible to the book of Welsh poems he couldn’t seem to put on a shelf just yet. Then, to the winged mug filled with long-since-run-cold cocoa. His reading glasses resting on the desk next to it. 

There was too much. He didn’t know what of, just too, too much. He drank from the bottle again.

Minutes later, the door to his bookshop opened. Ezra shook his head, calling out, “Terribly sorry, the shop’s closed!”

Footsteps approached him. Then, a hand rest itself on his shoulder. Ezra looked away from his desk; Anthony. 

The sunglassed man raised his eyebrows at Ezra, “You okay, Angel?”

Ezra closed his eyes and set down the bottle. He put his face in his hands, voice muffled, “Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Angel,” Ezra shook his head, removing his hands from his face, sighing, “It’s too nice.”

“Don’t call me _that._ ” Anthony jokingly warned, hand still on Ezra’s shoulder.

Ezra let out a soft laugh.

“Seriously, what’s wrong? You didn’t answer my calls.”

Ezra frowned in guilt. Then, in grief, “Shop’s not doing so well.”

“Oh.” Anthony said.

“Yeah.” Ezra found his stomach turning at the possible future of his beloved shop-- visions of closures and bankruptcies filling his head. There was no way he could manage to keep it open like this. It was absolute torture to know something he loved was inevitably going to be taken from his hands. He didn’t know what he could do beyond the shop, the books, the—

“Hey, come here.” Anthony whispered and tugged Ezra up. He looked the tired and saddened man up and down. His mouth twitched. Then, he slowly wrapped his arms around Ezra’s middle, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

Ezra blinked in surprise. Then, he melted, letting his arms fall around Anthony’s shoulders, pressing tight against him. 

They stood there in the embrace, breathing each other in. 

* * *

You know, without the pressures of eternal opposing forces at hand, humans have far less fear of fraternization. They’re rather brave, that way.

_11 months after the Reset_

A phone ringing, then:

“Hello?”

“Angel, hi.”

“Hello, my dear.”

“Listen, uh— would you like to come over to my flat tonight? We can watch television.”

“...”

“I just— er, I have a lot of food leftover from a um… From a day—”

“I’d love to. I’ll be there soon.”

“Oh! Good, good! See you then.” 

“See you.”

Hours later, the two were sitting on the couch in Anthony’s flat, dinner since eaten and television playing a rerun of a particularly funny comedy show.

However, Ezra was too focused on the heat of Anthony’s thigh lightly touching his as they sat next to each other. Over the course of the dinner, they had gotten into particularly excited conversation, inching closer and closer. So, even now, dinner gone, they remained in the same place.

Ezra tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest from the point of contact. “What is this show called?”

“Golden Girls.” 

“It’s quite good.” Ezra said, swallowing heavily when Anthony adjusted his body, thigh pressing closer to Ezra’s so they were properly flush.

“Yes,” Anthony glanced at Ezra, sunglasses forgotten on the coffee table in front of them. His bright hazel eyes bore into Ezra, “It is.” He murmured.

Ezra stared back at Anthony, television show half forgotten. They both breathed, eyes locked for a moment too long before a woman in the show yelled loudly. The two blinked and turned their attention back to the television, cheeks burning.

While the show continued to play, Ezra tried to calm his body. His cheeks were hot and his breath coming a little too quickly, and there was no use in trying to ignore the feeling of Anthony’s entire thigh resting next to his. 

They had been dancing this sort of dance for quite some time. Ever since the moment Anthony held Ezra during his moment of weakness, they had been closer than ever. There was rarely a day that would pass without Anthony strolling into the bookshop with a random person he picked off the street to peruse the books. Ezra thought it was touching, and told Anthony so whenever the man would undoubtedly abandon his book search partner and stroll over to Ezra’s desk. 

Not only that, but Ezra would often go to dinner with Anthony. Typically, this followed closing the shop each night. Anthony would look up from his work portfolio at the same time each evening, after hours spent in the bookshop keeping Ezra company. Then, he would ask each time, “Care for some food?” To which Ezra would obviously respond enthusiastically.

However, these dinners were never a proper thing. It was just the two of them getting food before going their separate ways each night. 

This night, though. It was different. Anthony had invited Ezra to his home with no particular end in sight. There was no parting of ways scheduled-- a fact which made Ezra both excited and boundlessly anxious.

“Angel?”

Ezra turned from watching the show to look at Anthony. He had a small smile on his face, one that didn’t quite reach his mouth, but one could tell he was content through the softness in his eyes. Ezra desperately wanted to do something— embrace him, lay his hands on the man, kiss him- he didn’t know what. His nerves were too frazzled by thinking of their recent correspondence and hypothetical futures. So, he said: “Yes, dear?

“I’m very glad we met.” Anthony said simply.

“Me too.” 

Ezra turned back to the show reluctantly, but Anthony quickly said, “Angel.”

This time, Ezra didn’t respond, but just turned again to look at Anthony, who had a nervous look on his face, eyebrows close together and eyes averted slightly. He licked his lips and said quietly, “I think we should try going to a proper dinner sometime, the two of us.”

For a moment, there was ambient silence in the form of Golden Girls playing in the background, long forgotten. Then Ezra responded, “I think that’d be lovely.”

Anthony smiled. He placed his hand on Ezra’s thigh, guided by hope and uncertainty at the same time.

There is something that got swept aside in this moment. There were no intervening higher powers, to the pair’s present knowledge, and thus the fuzzy line that may have existed certainly didn’t anymore. No, it had been swept away by the ocean in a particularly high tide. 

Ezra realized there was no use in worrying about anything else when it came to this bond between he and Anthony. No one was telling them not to do this-- and if there were, Ezra would rightly tell them to fuck off because he truly wanted to spend eternity in this moment and many more moments with Anthony.

Anthony spoke up, hand tightening on Ezra’s thigh. “Is this,” Anthony pauses, recollecting himself, “Is this too fast?” 

Ezra laughed quietly, the notion of them coming together after months of knowing each other being at all fast tickling him, “No, my dear boy, it’s not.” He placed his own hand over Anthony’s, tugging it around to intertwine their fingers.

* * *

_11 months and 20 days after the Reset_

Life was much better, like everything had suddenly increased in vibrancy for Ezra. He found himself smiling at every single thing throughout his day. Nearly everything was perfect.

After their promised dinner date, the two basically lived in each other’s pockets. Anthony spent most of his days in the bookshop, doing his own work on the couch across the room from Ezra’s desk. Ezra spent many evenings at Anthony’s flat, sometimes spending the night in his guest bedroom.

They didn’t do much past holding hands at any chance they got and drinking wine in the long hours of the night together. They also went to lunch and dinner together. 

They spent nearly every single day in each other’s presence, only separating when Ezra went to search for books for his shop or if Anthony had work appointments to attend with artists. It might’ve seemed to abrupt or fast to be doing this, but for Ezra it felt like a return to normalcy. He felt an ease in his body he couldn’t remember feeling before.

An ease that settled deep in his soul when he heard a soft snore behind him. Ezra turned from his book and saw Anthony, fast asleep on the couch. 

The sign on the door of the bookshop was turned quickly to ‘CLOSED’ as Ezra went over to join Anthony on the couch. A sleepy set of arms encircled his torso as he settled next to Anthony, holding him tight.

They slept for the rest of the afternoon, quiet comfort in each other’s company.

* * *

_12 months after the Reset_

Ezra said it suddenly. The two of them were in the bookshop, on the couch doing their separate things, when he said, “I need to sell the shop.”

Anthony startled, putting down his portfolio, “What?” he exclaimed, eyes going wide. He hardly wore his sunglasses anymore, not after Ezra commented on how much he enjoyed seeing them.

Ezra stayed resolute, “I have to, it’s the only thing I can do.”

Anthony shook his head, “You can’t. You love that shop!”

“It doesn’t matter— the shop hasn’t been selling hardly anything and I’m nearly out of my savings and,” Ezra swallowed thickly, emotion nearly overtaking him, “I have to sell it.”

A hand gripped his. Anthony frowned in concern, leaning in closer, “You can find other options, Angel.”

“I really can’t,” Ezra sighed, squeezing Anthony’s hand, “You know as well as I do that I can’t part with the books, but… I need to— and I have offers from people who are genuinely interested in preserving it and ensuring the books won’t be lost.”

“You have offers?” Anthony gaped, “Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking of this?”

“Didn’t want to believe I was really doing it.”

“You can’t.”

“I will.”

“But—”

Ezra interrupted, “I need to do this, Anthony.” His eyes grew blurry, tears forming, “I can’t keep being selfish and holding it only for myself.”

Anthony nodded, deeply distressed, shoulders tense. “Where will you live?”

“I don’t know.”

Then, Anthony looked at Ezra, mouth opening slightly in a realization that seemed to light him from the inside out. He had an intense expression on his face: hope, determination, and fear. “Move in with me.”

Ezra froze. “What?”

“Look, you don’t have to— if you don’t want to. I know you think my flat is too sad or whatever.” He reached his other hand over, clasping both of his hands around Ezra’s, “But, you can redecorate it however you want, Angel— or, hell, we can even move somewhere else. I want to go wherever you are— just run off together anywhere, I don’t care.”

“Anthony,”

“And,” Anthony continued, staring at their hands, “I could buy the shop.”

Ezra took his hand away, burned, “What?” He felt his voice shaking from hearing Anthony’s proposal, and this was the final straw to push him into full panic.

“I have too much money from people who collect my art, and I never use it, as you can tell from my flat. But, I could buy the shop— you’d never have to leave it, Angel, you’d never have to sell a thing-"

“Why are you asking this of me?” Ezra’s throat burned, he felt ripped from the seams. He didn’t understand, he didn’t understand why Anthony would do this, “I don’t understand why you would think I would allow you to do that for me, it doesn’t make sense, dear,” Ezra rambled, shaking his head. He stood up, pacing the room while Anthony stood as well, watching him, trying to get a word in, unsuccessfully. “You don’t have to do this, I truly am not asking you for it, we have hardly known each other for long so I don’t know why you would-”

“I love you!” Anthony yelled, effectively cutting him off. His eyes looked wet as well. “That’s why.” He uttered.

Silence rang throughout the shop. Ezra stared, eyes wide and mouth open slightly for a few breaths. Anthony stood there, swallowing roughly. He stared back, laid bare. Something delicate hung in the balance— Neither of them were sure what.

Ezra blinked. It clicked into place. There was no transaction. It wasn’t a favor Anthony was gracefully giving to Ezra, it was something done in genuine care. It was a promise of partnership, of commitment. 

Ezra smiled. It was so easy— he realized once he got over the mild shock— it was so easy to reply: “I love you, too.”

Suddenly, the world burned in white. 

A crescendo of light and fire and wind swirled in Ezra’s body, taking his entire soul by storm. A suffocating feeling of utter divinity rushed into his being like an army charging into battle after months of camping just off the edge of a kingdom, waiting for the right moment to strike. It cut straight down his heart, blazes of the purest power shocking every inch of him. He saw life, death, pain. He saw everything that had been created and everything that had been destroyed. His eyes welled up with tears as he saw flashes of _everything._

The stars being hung with careful hands and a wily grin in his direction. An explanation: ‘I’ll name this one Alpha Centauri.” A deep wound, an emptiness in Aziraphale’s soul as the other half of it was wretched from him and sent down, down, down. So far down that they lost the thread of each other’s face, frayed and burnt ends slipping from their fingertips. The creation of humanity. Shielding the hands that hung the stars from the first rain. Then, six thousand years. Hands grasping at wine glasses, at books in suitcases, at each other, for years upon decades upon millennia. Then, a year after that. Halloween costumes, shielding those same hands from another sort of first rain, a realization of love. They reached for the thin thread that bound their very essences together. However, there was something before that— before it all.

They never knew it at the time, a sort of divine power shielding their eyes from the truth even as angels, but their souls had been intertwined before the beginning. The child of the sun and the stars was there, four ethereal eyes looking out of one body. The child watched as She created the first rudimentary facets of the universe. Then, split. Split from their body and flung into existence among those who had been created with only one soul in mind. And from there, history. 

Aziraphale opened his tear stained eyes, finally seeing. The bookshop was in ruins, shelves tipped over, wood splintering with the same pain of the books that had spilled from their resting place onto the floor. Pages from ancient readings held once delicately in folders scattered uselessly in the air. Bottles of fine ink dripped down the walls. Windows shattered, millions of cracks in the delicate glass. They didn’t budge from the frame, stubbornly holding together, shards upon shards willing themselves to stay in place.

Then, he felt his wings, raised in glory after being forcibly tucked away for a year. They preened in the familiar space. Then they yearned to reach somewhere beyond the skies, to shield the one they had been assigned to protect.

He looked finally, at Crowley. The man’s—demon’s— hazel eyes were once again a golden yellow and his pupils formed into slits. Out of those eyes poured the same tears that trailed down Aziraphale’s face. Crowley had a manic expression, mouth slightly ajar, face stricken with a hundred emotions battling each other to surface. His wings were also out, long, slick black feathers pointing to the ground in a juxtaposing position of similar glory.

For a moment, they just stared. Bodies still with shock and new power and something else. Something that they had never known before-- the experience of Knowledge. The same as Adam and Eve’s. They had bitten from the fruit in a single motion, sweeping away the line in the sand that was never meant to be there, and now they were left in the flora of upturned pages and spilled ink, directionless and thrown.

Well, not directionless.

The two lost souls stepped toward each other. Their broken paths led to the other. Aziraphale raised his shaking hands to Crowley’s face. Crowley’s eyes stayed fixed on Aziraphale’s as his own hands clutched at the angel’s arms.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley choked out, his hands grasping tighter, “How do I keep losing you?” His body shuddered in pain deeper than any wound.

“Crowley.” The name felt like a prayer on Aziraphale’s tongue, salvation just within his reach. His eyes searched the demon’s face, taking in the familiarity held in three, four lifetimes. The soul that had been ripped from his, over and over. 

A soft sob escaped Aziraphale. Crowley’s hands tightened and pulled him close, holding Aziraphale in a tight, bone aching hug. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and held on. Their shaking bodies pressed together, demon’s lips whispering ‘Angel’ to the air repeatedly, angel’s cheek pressing against the demon’s neck.

The two didn’t need to say anything more. They knew. They had loved, and lost. No matter how incredible their time together the past year had been, it didn’t change the fact that they lost so much. They lost millennia. They knew what had been taken, and they knew what they regained. 

It felt like each new beginning. Each new reset that had led them inevitably to each other. From a single entity to two, from divine to fallen, to shielding, to humanity, to the world. It felt just as the first rain had felt: them seeking sanctuary in each other’s soul. However this time had an extra layer of remembrance on it. Rather than realizing the importance of the other, they realized the great orchestration of their existence. They were ineffable.

Aziraphale drew back, gently smiling at Crowley’s protest in the form of hands tensing. They both had not ceased in crying, it was as if their humanly bodies were purging the veils that had been placed on them once and for all. While they knew they weren’t human, they never were, even in this lifetime, they knew they weren’t exactly occult— ethereal— as well. 

Aziraphale realized that didn’t matter a bit to him, not anymore. He wasn’t bound by the rules of Heavenly bureaucracy as his last self was painfully tied to. Being human, or, thinking he was human, for that long year had freed him. Humanity was starkly similar to divinity, to his being before creation, before the construction of opposing forces, his being of pure love— as the child of the sun and stars. Perhaps there was something to humans being called God’s children.

He returned his gaze to Crowley, who returned it. Crowley’s eyes squinted in a soft smile that didn’t bother to reach his lips. Aziraphale knew it all too well.

The angel leaned forward. There was no flash of light or burning down his spine when they kissed, lips pressed gently to one another’s. No, rather, it felt normal. Like those quiet moments at restaurants where all they could do was smile at each other, food forgotten. Like the page of a book turning while a plant was being misted. It felt like their souls were becoming one again in a moment of utter comfort and home.

They separated, eyes locked. “My dear.” Aziraphale whispered, voice thick with emotion. Their eyes finally ran dry, ceasing in their outpour of incredible realization.

Crowley murmured, “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed, it has.”

“I trust you’re not selling me your bookshop, then?” Crowley’s eyes had an incredibly familiar glint of mischief in them that had carried through all of his selves.

Aziraphale scoffed with no real scorn in it, joy shining on his face, “No, of course not. And, it’s actually quite a nice space for two, now that I think about it.”

A voice called from behind them, “Oh, is it now?” 

The pair froze. Aziraphale saw Crowley’s face contort in anger and fear. However, within himself, he felt peace— and anger as well.

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale turned to face the archangel. He looked the same as ever, suit pressed to perfection. Aziraphale pitied him for a moment.

“You two idiots never do anything right, you know that?” Gabriel stepped forward, aura around him glowing faintly.

Crowley laughed, anger turning the sound as sharp as a blade, “You think what you did was right, then?” Aziraphale felt Crowley heating up, demonic powers rising after being left dormant for years. He was ready to kill Gabriel, no fear of any potential consequences.

Oh.

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. The demon in question glanced at him, questioning, before he saw the expression on the angel’s face. Aziraphale smiled.

Gabriel tensed, body ready for a battle though he hadn’t fought in millennia. 

“Now, Gabriel.” Aziraphale stepped in front of Crowley, shielding him. His wings cried out in silent victory. “I highly suggest you leave.”

“Why would I do that?” Gabriel said, eyes blazing with righteous anger.

“Because if you don’t, I will discorporate you. And if you return, then I will do it again. I will be ready for you every single time, and I will kill you if you even think to do what you did to us again.”

Gabriel shook his head, eyes mocking, “You can’t do that. You know you’ll Fall— I’m surprised you haven’t already.”

Aziraphale felt Crowley stiffen behind him at the thought. But he knew better. “No, I don’t think I will. After all, I’ve defied Heaven’s rule— your rule— time and time again. And yet, here I am,”

“Holier than thou,” Crowley directed at Gabriel, sinister grin on his face. He moved forward, standing next to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale brightened, “Quite.” 

Gabriel stepped forward, outraged. “You two destroyed everything. You ruined plans in the making for centuries.” He continued, stalking closer to the pair, “You committed treason and resisted punishment in the form of a fucking body swap! And even after we erased your minds of everything, you STILL manage to ruin it all!” He stopped, glaring with glowing eyes at Aziraphale.

The Archangel’s aura grew brighter as he summoned a blaze of light into his hand, “You will be punished.” He threatened.

“Oh, I don’t think we will.” Aziraphale tutted. “You took everything away from me, but,” He smiled, “I have to thank you for moving this whole thing along. Truly some fine work on your part.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched and he brought his hand back, grip tightening on his blade of holy fire, aimed directly at the angel— and suddenly Gabriel was gone into thin air. All that was left in his position was mere flecks of dust that were all around the bookshop already.

The two stared into the space. 

“Angel,” Crowley said slowly, “What did you just do?”

“I simply discorporated his body, or rather, vaporized it. Tore it into a million atoms. It was quite dangerous of him to be waving around fire in a bookshop, you know.” 

Crowley laughed in shock. He turned to Aziraphale, “You really are a bastard, you know that?”

Aziraphale smiled. “He’ll be back, eventually. I assume Michael is close behind as well.” But he didn’t say it with fear, just acceptance that one day, he will have to just vaporize some angels again. Or maybe Crowley could— Aziraphale wouldn’t object to that. After all, it wasn’t as if Aziraphale could Fall. The Ineffable Plan required he and Crowley to be together, at all costs. And if that includes destroying a few angels, so be it.

He surveyed the area quickly, eyes flitting around the bookshop. “What a shame.” He sighed.

“Oh,” Crowley realized what had happened around them. Then, he waved his hand, eyes on Aziraphale still, not wanting to ever have him leave his sight again. And the bookshop was restored, books floating back onto healed shelves. Ink filling their never-shattered bottles. And windows mending back to whole panes. A small part in Aziraphale, the briefly human part in him, reveled in the sight of magic. He smiled.

“Thank you, dear boy.” Aziraphale said.

“Of course.” Crowley replied.

“Well, lunch then?”

A pause. 

“Yes, that’d be… nice.”

“How does the Ritz sound?”

“Sounds good, Angel.”

“We should head off now, then.”

“Yes.”

“Crowley?”

The same hands that hung the stars grabbed at the one who shielded them. They clung to the angel as the demon pressed his lips to the other’s once again, tenderly. There was something more to them, now. They had experienced life as humans, truly. Revelled in the sense of mortality, and came out of it as more than what they had ever been. 

They were angels once, but before that, they were more. They had been created by God to be one, and when Creation cruelly separated them, they were fated to roam the universe until they could be whole again. And finally, after searching through the great expanse of life and time, they were.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!! please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed this <3
> 
> i'm at [cosmicfussed](https://cosmicfussed.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as well if you'd like to talk to me! I'm always down to talk to anyone yeehaw


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